


Si Vis Pacem, Para Bellum

by NotYourHerald



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angry Inquisitor (Dragon Age), Angst and Humor, BAMF Dorian Pavus, BAMF Inquisitor, Canon Universe, Canon-Typical Violence, Dad friend Varric Tethras, Dorian Pavus Has Issues, Dragon Age: Inquisition Spoilers, In Game Dialogue, Inquisitor Being an Asshole, Inquisitor Lavellan - Freeform, M/M, Sassy Inquisitor, Slow Burn, Solas Being an Asshole, Solas Disapproves, Time Skips, Varric Tethras is a Good Friend, Work In Progress
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-23
Updated: 2017-12-15
Packaged: 2019-02-06 00:23:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,742
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12805569
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NotYourHerald/pseuds/NotYourHerald
Summary: "if you wish for peace, prepare for the war,"Daerion Lavellan did not want this, he does not know how to be a hero, and he certainly isn't the herald of bloody Andrasde. He is just here to stand around, look pretty, and kill demons.





	1. Prologue

A narrow beam of light fell down through the metal grate in the ceiling, illuminating the stray strand of hair that hung limply against the elf’s sharp cheekbones. The light shining on his skin created a blinding contrast to the deep black vallaslin markings that crawled down over his brows and across his neck.   
Daerion Lavellan growled under his breath, tossing his head, as if that would somehow banish the antagonistic noise of dripping water and fidgeting Shems in armour. This was irritating him; nothing in all of Thedas could have reminded him how on earth he had come to be in this…room? Dungeon?   
Well.. He was somewhere, surrounded by soldiers.  
***  
Daerion hissed in pain and doubled over against the metal restraints, balling up his left fist as it sparked. It felt like his entire arm was on fire, the emerald glow pulsated and flared brilliantly, his hand felt as if it would tear itself asunder. He knitted his brows together, sweat beading on his forehead.  
The door crashed open, causing the nervous Shemlen around him to jerk in shock. The glow dimmed as he willed the world back into focus, seeing now that two Shem’ women had entered the room. One of them, in what looked to be a seeker’s armour, lunged toward Daerion yanking his marked hand into the range of the torchlight.  
“Explain this.” Her angular face was notched with faded scars, and a muscle in her cheek was twitching.  
Daerion forced his face into a calm expression, cocking his eyebrow, “well clearly,” he smirked, “There appears to be an odd glowing mark on my hand, not to mention the handcuffs.”  
“Give me one reason why your execution should not be immediate.” Clearly his response had not been one the seeker wanted, he thought, looking down at the sword pointed at his nose. “Every last person who attended the Conclave is dead,” the seeker paused, “you are the only one still breathing,”  
“Enough Cassandra,” the second woman, placed a hand on the seeker’s shoulder, “We need him.”


	2. Chapter 1: So I’m Your Hero Now.

Daerion clenched his jaw, digging his nails into his palm. “Look whatever it is you two seem to be so absolutely convinced I have done,” he raised his chin, huffing to get his damp hair out of his face, “which is –apparently– mass homicide, according to you, and according to your other pet Shems, tearing a huge sod-off hole in the sky.” Lavellan paused, “I highly doubt I actually did, and even if I did, I have absolutely no recollection of anything. At. All.”   
Daerion lowered his gaze, this was getting them nowhere. The taller woman, Cassandra, clearly wanted nothing more than to throttle him “…. Fenhedis..”  
“Go to the forward camp Leliana,” Cassandra stepped back, glowering. She spat through gritted teeth, “I will take him to the rift.” The hooded one- Leliana- squared her shoulders, nodding curtly, and strode from the room. The door clanged shut.   
Great- Now it was just him and the angry Cassandra. At best this would end in irritation and a migraine, at worst… Well… Daerion just wanted out of here, preferably with his head.  
***  
“So.. What actually happened out there?” Daerion stretched his lithe frame as he unfurled his legs from beneath him. His hands were still bound, but Mythal be damned if he wasn’t relieved the metal restraints were off.  
“It will be easier to show you,”  
Daerion sighed as the heavy door creaked open again, stumbling after Cassandra into the too bright mid-winter sun, squinting. He was shielding his eyes from the white glare as best he could; a deep emerald pulse spread across the sky and Daerion collapsed to the ground. Pain wracked his frame, the mark flaring as if it were taunting him. Black seeped into his field of vision.  
He could feel his heartbeat in his throat.   
Darion gasped in agony, hands shaking. He looked up. The sky was dominated by a shifting green tear, sparking and pulsating as though it were a struggling creature or the dying embers of a fire. Steadying his breath and biting his lip he winced, he could feel the heat of the mark, a poison simultaneously freezing and searing away the flesh of his hand, eating its way outward. The mark was hissing, spitting, sparking. It hurt. More than he could have imagined. The elf’s ear lay flat against the sides of his head, he groaned softly.  
“…We call it the breach.” Cassandra stood stoically, her face held a hardened glare. The elf struggled to focus, slowly grasping the latter half of the seeker’s speech, “… It is not the only rift of its kind, but it is by far the largest, all of which appeared in parallel with the destruction of the conclave.”  
Through gritted teeth, Daerion slowly straightened himself, steadying the tremble in his shoulders. He observed Cassandra silently; she was staring up at the breach, a strange expression crossing her face, simultaneously restrained and glazed over with awe.   
There was a regimental stillness to her, stiffness in her stance. He had a feeling she was the commanding sort.   
He also had a feeling that she currently wanted to make a command, and if so, he was disinclined to follow along with her notion that he was somehow central to all of this insanity. Much less Cassandra’s idiotic opinion that he was somehow under an obligation to fix this, as if he was in anyway bloody responsible for happening to fall out of the glowing green hole in the sky, even if the thing was spewing demons en masse.  
Daerion’s pointed ears twitched, his eyes narrowed, “you are telling me all of this because?”  
“-If we do not act, the breach may spread, swallowing all corners of Thedas,” Cassandra growled, her glare flitting toward the elf, “your mark spreads in tandem with the expansion of the breach… and it is killing you.”  
“So… you are telling me the world is going to end because I’m dying, how does that help, Seeker?”  
“No.” Cassandra looked disgusted by the words she was considering, “we think that the connection between your mark and the rifts. Well, it may be the key to stopping all of this.” She paled, “as much as I am loathed to admit this… Your aid may be Thedas’ only hope for sealing the breach.”  
Lavellan glared at his balled fist accusingly, muttering, “So I don’t actually have a choice in any of this.”   
Cassandra levelled a furious glare at him, grabbing him by the shoulder. They made their way through the town, past a sea of strongly disapproving eyes, all locked on Daerion.  
“None of us has a choice.”  
***  
Daerion was glad to have daggers back in his hands; they gave him a sense of balance, a sense of grace, a sense of grounding.   
Having promptly managed not to die following Cassandra’s long monologue about ‘Divine Justinia’ and ‘Having a sense of duty’ after they both tumbled onto the ice, he was not in the mood for bickering.  
Unfortunately, the Seeker seemed to think now was a wonderful time to play status games. Of course the prisoner couldn’t have weapons, o’ no, that would be far… too... Risky. Moron.  
Fortunately, Daerion saw that Cassandra realised that it was indeed a stupid idea to insist she play babysitter to someone who was perfectly competent in hand-to-hand combat on their own. The pair’s progress to Gods-know-where went faster following their brief spat; though the elf suspected that this was because the Shem wanted as little time in his company as he wanted in hers.  
The environment though. That, he thought, was magnificent. The whole thing was picturesque; the frozen river glinted in the Frostback sun, angular trees glittering on the Cliffside. Even treacherous rockfalls seemed imbued with magic, beautiful shades of silvery-blue and grey lending the harsh angles and dilapidation a softness and purpose. As much as Daerion hated the cold –it hurt his ears– this was like fighting in a painting.  
***  
Daerion panted slightly, his hand ached. Gaping at the taller elf, a mage no doubt, he groaned “what the hell did you do?”  
“I theorised that the mark on your hand may hold the ability to close the rifts that opened in the wake of the breach,” the bald elf proffered, turning to look down at Daerion, “-and it seems I was correct.”  
“..Gods be damned,”   
“It appears as though you may hold the key to our salvation,” The bald elf smirks ever-so-slightly at the other’s discomfort.  
Daerion blanched, he took a step back, willing himself not to let the bile rise. He didn’t like the sound of this, a last resort he could understand… but a saviour?  
No.   
He wouldn’t. He couldn’t.   
He had to… It was this, or death. Daerion groaned internally, his eyes darting back and forth, looking for an exit from his own internal conversation. A resignation fell across his face; he straightened his shoulders, squaring his slight frame, and swore near-inaudibly, but none the less bitterly, “…Fenhedis...”  
“Well that is a relief,” Daerion’s gaze snapped to a stocky blond dwarf whom he hadn’t noticed. Intricate weapon—he thought when his eyes fell to the crossbow that the dwarf held. “..And here I was thinking we’d all be ass deep in demons forever—” The dwarf paused and bowed humorously, “Varric, Varric Tethras: Rogue and currently unwelcome tagalong...”  
Cassandra glared in Varric’s general direction.  
“The rift is closed, where do we go from here Seeker?” Daerion queried curtly.  
“We find Leliana.”  
The response “wonderful plan!” from Varric had Cassandra balking. Clearly- Daerion noted- there was some undisclosed issue between the two.  
“Absolutely not,” Cassandra’s glare intensified, “-your help is appreciated, but…”  
“You need me, Seeker; your soldiers have no power in the valley anymore-”  
Cassandra made an exasperated noise; half retch –half growl, and stormed off toward the valley.  
“While we have the peace, and it is of convenience, I will continue the introductions,” the bald elf spoke again, “I am Solas. And I am glad to see you are still alive.”  
Daerion rolled his eyes-Pride- what a coincidence. He did seem rather full of himself.  
“What he means,” Varric chuckled, “is that he kept your mark from killing you while you slept.”  
“We do not have the time for this,” Daerion huffed, plastering an irritated- mildly bored- expression onto his face, “we must keep moving.”  
“Well.. Bianca’s excited!” …Daerion gave the dwarf a puzzled look.  
Solas had already headed off in tow of Cassandra, leaving Daerion with Varric, the only person in this damned place who had yet to prove a thorn in his side. Nodding to one another, they followed the others down the icy bank leading into the valley. Perhaps Daerion could find some bearable companions in this place after all.  
***  
“He shouldn’t even be here! You must take him to Val Royeux to face execution, it is all that those.. Like him.. Deserve.” A man in chantry robes stood near to Leliana, there was clear tension in the air, the spoilings of a fight. The man was whispering, though Daerion could pick up the words all too clearly.   
Cassandra bristled. “Who are you to order us, nought but a glorified Clerk in chantry robes?”  
“I am High Chancellor” The Chancellor levelled a dirty look toward the Seeker, “you are nothing more than a Thug--”  
“We serve the Most Holy!” Leliana scoffed furiously.  
“The. Divine. Is. Dead.” Roderick shot back, “whose orders is it that you follow now besides your own! Call off your forces Seeker. This is a lost cause; you must not endanger more lives-”  
This was a mess. It was like attempting to heard dracolisks, there was clearly nobody in charge; Daerion was getting a headache now, if they kept up this continuous whining at each other he would be seriously tempted to just slit all their throats and be done with it. The closer they came to the breach the worse the burning sensation leeching out from his left palm became. Though the longer he had to endure it, the less it bothered him, and the easier he was able to hide any physical display of discomfort. He wanted it gone.  
“… distraction, while we take the path through the mountains,” Leliana finished her proposition insistently.  
“That route poses far too much risk Leliana! There is no guarantee that Cullen and his men will provide enough cover or draw attention away from our group. A head on attack alongside Commander Cullen is the fastest route” Cassandra interjected.  
They would never achieve anything at this rate.. Daerion was beginning to zone out.  
“How do you suggest we advance?” The group turned to him.  
The slight elf was shocked back into awareness irritably, “Oh, so after half an hour of in fighting and nonsense you want the opinion of your prisoner? The one who, you so kindly keep reminding me, everyone thinks has murdered your wondrous ‘Divine’?”   
He did not have time to care about this, he wanted to fix the thing that was killing him and get out, he did not sign up for this. Matter of fact, he had been forcibly dragged into it by the pauldrons. “Fine, now that you want me to.. Lead… Work together, we all know what is at risk, we take the mountain path, Seeker, get your Cullen and his men to advance, make it loud, and ensure they provide ample cover and distraction as we take on the Breach directly.”  
Sharply Lavellan turned on his heel, readied his daggers, and pulling the most unenthused face he was capable of; lead the party onto the mountain pass Leliana had indicated, bracing against the biting wind, as the sound of ballistae and swords exploded down in the valley.  
Daerion did not want to become the saviour of all Thedas; he just wanted this ridiculous charade over with.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I hope you're enjoying this so far, I've never actually written a fic before, so please tell me what you think. Sorry in advance if updates end up being sorta sporadic, I'll be trying my best to do update at least monthly.


	3. Chapter 2: In Which the Stay Is Extended Indefinitely

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Is it possible to begin friendships in the midst of a hellish situation?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again!  
> Hope you enjoy this chapter, It was fun to write, hopefully I'll update a little more before new year, it is almost winter break after all so I'll have more time on my hands.  
> As always, please tell me what you think!!

“Oh no- I’m just fine thanks. Absolutely Perfect. Of course there’s no need to check on the person with a serious head wound-,” Daerion groaned, his poorly timed attempt to close the fade rift had sent him flying when a clawed hand swatted him away. A searing pain burned its way up his arm from the mark as he raised his hand to his face; something throbbed where the back of his head had hit the cliff face.  
“Fenhedis...” He swore as he shifted himself from the ground. A miss from the dwarf caused a flurry of rocks to break away from the cliff, sending them crashing downward.  
His head felt like it was filled with bees after his brief demon induced flying lesson. Daerion shook himself, allowing the adrenaline to build a wall between his current situation and the pain in the back of his head, steadying the simple daggers in his hand and taking up a defensive stance with his back to the cliff face. The fight was absolute chaos, he could tell now that he had been thrown nearly thirty feet away from where he had been. He could make out the wispy emerald of the rift somewhere within the mess of angry Spirits, and Shades.  
As he frowned down at the battle it was dawning on him that two rogues, a mage, and one warrior may not have been the best group to take pride demon, but equally, it was a little late to do anything about that now. Daerion sprinted closer, and saw Cassandra knock the Shade that had sent him sprawling with a shield bash. Too late to warn her, he dove into the fight, slashing at two more approaching on her left, from somewhere indeterminable he heard a crossbow click. Daerion whirled around just in time to see a bolt fly clear through the face of a spirit that had been flanking him.  
“Ma serranas, Durgen'len,” the elf quickly growled over the cacophony of swords and demons, flipping his braid back over his shoulder as he hurled a spare dagger sideways, finishing off the spirit before it could focus its attention back toward Cassandra.  
“Don’t thank me, thank Bianca!” The dwarf shouted as he loaded another bolt into his weapon.  
“Bianca?!” Daerion scoffed incredulously, “that thing is Bianca?” He shook his head, wincing at the wave of dizziness that washed over him at the movement.  
Briefly the dwarf raised a concerned brow in the elf’s direction; Daerion’s slight swaying clearly having caught Varric’s eye. The expression was quickly covered by a smirk and a benign chuckle.  
Daerion glared inwardly at the lapse in his bored façade, chastising himself silently for allowing the irritating brick that was Varric to draw such a reaction from him… despite this though, Daerion thought to himself, on the list of least dislikeable people he had been forced to spend time with over the last few days Varric was probably at the top.  
“FENHEDIS--” Daerion growled ducking out of a shade’s reach, one supposed, the lull in the fight could hardly last forever. He brought his daggers up before him and steadied himself. Allowing the adrenaline to override his system and dove back into the fray.  
Daerion and Varric shared the same thought as they once more lost themselves in the fight… A certain Pride demon was well overdue an ass kicking.  
***  
“Oh for the love of the gods…” Daerion fell to his knees, pain swimming in the back of his head; lithe frame shaking, his face contorted into a mask of agony as he cradled his arm.  
The centre of the temple lost its eerie hue, the rift snapped shut.  
A winding green light tore its way up toward the breach.  
Daerion’s vision faded to black.  
***  
Daerion was beginning to seriously consider just running off into the Frostbacks in the middle of the night. The rest of the first week in the aftermath of the group’s assault on the Temple of Sacred Ashes had been a snowball of horrible incidents, one after the other.  
The town, ironically named Haven, had become nightmarish. After the assault on the temple he had lost consciousness. The bald elf, Solas, had told him this was something to do with blood loss and over exertion of the fade magic being channelled through his marked left hand- after the three days it had taken him to rouse himself.  
The unpleasant discovery that the attempt to close the breach had been unsuccessful had made Daerion terse and sullen; the mark was still present, though the spreading had stopped. The pain of it was a dull but constant thrum. The hum of the fade magic warring with his own inherent magic was creating an additional layer of discomfort that made him wish to simply render his own hand from its place on his wrist. The mark seemed to taunt him, the gash now running in an arch under his thumb diagonally across the ball of his palm, an angry open wound, flickering with a slow throb of crystalline green light. He had to get rid of it. Although, objectively speaking a significant amount of the detestable atmosphere around Haven was due to his own agreement to join in Cassandra and Leliana’s insane new brainchild.  
The newly born inquisition was a ridiculously sudden affair, having been spawned from snap judgements and Cassandra’s new reading material. Daerion wasn’t quite sure what to think on the subject, though the glint of amusement and satisfaction that came from pissing off the High Chancellor was certainly an influencing factor in his agreeing to stay. The motivation behind Daerion’s choice was merely desire to rid the sky the vicious green scar dominating it and continuing to send pulses of pain through him. He needed this gone, and the only thing that would permanently end his slow, untimely death was destroying the breach. This cessation in the mark’s spread was nothing more than a brief pause in the larger scheme of things, a permanent solution needed to be reached.  
From the moment he had regained consciousness, Daerion felt as though he had been dumped headfirst into some sort of antagonistic alternate reality. Not more than seventy two hours previously the town had been baying for blood. He had been shunned him as just another murderous knife-ear. The whispers that had been building since showed an unbelievable pace shift, one that the elf disliked significantly more than regular slurs in passing. People were fickle, and now, they were turning to him. Daerion had left Haven a pariah and returned as the people’s saviour. The new label was something he vehemently loathed.  
‘Herald of Andrasde’  
It was absolutely moronic.  
***  
Unfortunately the trip to the crossroads to find the Chantry mother that had called for him had not allowed time for the ‘Herald’ title to dissipate. If anything it had only grown in use. Not only was that the case but the trip itself been thoroughly grating.  
If Daerion was forced to listen to Mother Giselle’s harpings on about faith, hope, and duty to the people, for minute longer—Gods above…He was going to pour tar into his own ears. Due to the constant groups of followers and constantly growing band of stalkers that shadowed him around Haven, the lithe elf had taken to slinking off most days to hunt in the quiet, still—and devoid of worshipping saps—Frostback Mountains.  
From this vantage point he was able to overlook Cullen’s training ground, running down between the linear tents up against the shore of the frozen lake and over to the sparse spruce forests far up by the trebuchet defences on the far left edge of the settlement. The ice glittered on the mountainside, the frost-dipped pines standing regal along Havens outer wall. The world seemed calm and open up here, away from the hassle and constant scheming of the bustling settlement below.  
Daerion sat on the ledge beneath the rocky overhang on the cliff bordering the barracks on the outskirts of Haven. The silence was appreciated after a long morning of Josephine’s lectures on alliances, and being endlessly begged to bless various babies or listen to various woes.  
Lavellan curled his legs around underneath him, shaking his dark mane down from the simple bun at the base of his neck. Bringing his long hair around over his shoulders and face he began to brush through it with elegant fingers, deftly sorting it into sections. Arranging it carefully, he pushed it back and it fell into ornate swirling braids that formed a half-circlet framing his brow and the left side of his face in a pattern that ran similarly to June’s deep black Vallaslin that adorned his face and crawled down over his neck.  
Daerion sat in sullen silence on his chosen ledge brooding over the valley, glaring intensely at the motionless swirl of the breach above him. Shivering slightly, he curled further, pulling his hunting leathers tighter around him, cursing his choice to wear open-fingered leather gauntlets as the chill of early evening set in.  
“Hey there Huffy, fancy finding you up here,” Varric chuckled softly, breathing heavily as he heaved himself up over the edge onto the outcrop.  
The elf was jolted from his introspection by the dwarf’s low rumble; he glared harder at the frozen sky- as if it was somehow at fault for the unwanted interruption of his brooding time.  
“So, what’s got you in such a fantastic mood?” The dwarf settled himself beside Lavellan, swinging his legs down over the side of the ledge, tossing a grin sideways at the sullen elf.  
“Hm.” Daerion, considered the possibility of a getaway. Deciding against it, he hummed disinterestedly, blowing a stray strand of hair from his eyes.  
Varric hummed back, nudging an elbow jovially between the Elf’s ribs.  
“All of this, I suppose,” Daerion finally huffed, glowering down toward the tents.  
“I guess going from murder suspect to least willing hero in all of Thedas delivers quite the hit right? Personally I would’ve wanted to spread out the turnaround over more than a day,” The dwarf’s gravelly response held and underlying note of sympathy. “Care to elaborate?”  
The elf shuffled uncomfortably, shifting back on the ledge thinking on where to start. Smirking slightly irritably, Daerion spoke, “you know- I came up here to avoid people Durgen’len—”  
“Fine, fine, we can talk about something else…” Varric interjected, dropping into silence, considering a new topic.  
“So… Bianca?” Daerion questioned, “Where did you find it?”  
“Oh- Now that is a story.” Varric chuckled lightly, pausing fractionally.  
“Then tell it,” Lavellan responded briskly, “It’s not like either of us have anywhere to be.”  
The dwarf smirked. “Alright, Fuzzy, I’ll tell you how I found her,” Varric paused with a dramatic inward breath.  
Daerion’s lip twitched in response, amusement flashing briefly over his face.  
Varric mimed opening a book slowly, ending his pause with a roguish grin, “It all started a very long time ago, in a far-off settlement on the outlying coasts of Thedas… A chiselled, wildly handsome Dwarf by the name of Varric Tethras was hiding out, on the run from a mysterious band of assassins…  
—One day I found myself in the hardest game of Wicked Grace of all my days, the fellow in question… Well, he was an infamous pirate; I will spare him the embarrassment of telling you his name— so one thing led to another. Eventually, I won the game…  
A hard won fight, but I had a lucky streak toward the end of the match, in the end I left the tavern, and the town, taking everything the man owned bar his underwear… It was a majestic sight; I sailing off with his ship, coat, and breeches— he, standing on the shore screeching something about Antivan silk!  
Enough on that though, it was Bianca you wanted to know of. Well that was how I found her, in a locked box in the captain’s quarters. I had to smash the box open. There she was, lying on a bed of velvet, most beautiful workmanship you ever saw, my Bianca; majestic, elegant, undeniably perfect in every way.” Varric finished with a flourish of his hands, grinning over at Daerion.  
Daerion’s elegant still mask had cracked slightly, and he sat, staring owlishly at the Dwarf. Slowly, the elf regained his posture, settling back on the ledge. He raised a brow, “Varric—I …”  
The elf paused, swallowing a breath. Slowly, his face broke into a wide grin. The first genuine smile he could remember giving in a long time; certainly the first since the events of the Gods-forsaken conclave incident. “Fenhedis Varric, that- that was... The biggest heap of Druffalo shite I have heard in an absolute age!” Daerion chuckled amicably.  
“Ah- Okay, Okay; you got me.” Varric smiled back, “I am prone to rather extravagant lies.”  
Daerion smirked; an amicable light in his eyes. He soon sobered again. He had begun to wonder when exactly he had made the mental shift from Durgen’len to Varric’s actual name.  
His shoulders loosened slightly, and he stretched his legs out over the ledge. A little colour had returned to the elf’s sallow face. It was strange to think. That he of all people, may have found a friend of all things in the midst of all this.  
The irony of the situation was not lost on him, to have begun to place trust in someone because they had told the most obvious and overacted of lies. Although in truth, as he thought on the matter, he knew that was exactly what he would have done. Indeed he too had lied when Cassandra asked where he had come from…  
“Fuzzy…?” Varric snapped his fingers, again Daerion jolted from his introspection, the dwarf elbowed Daerion again, “Hey Fuzzball—you’re staring into space, what’s going on up there?”  
“What- oh, nothing, I just remembered that I couldn’t remember how long it had been since I laughed.”  
“Well, if that ain’t a cause for celebration, I feel honoured fuzzy. I knew there was an okay kid underneath all that brooding and statue impersonation!” Varric grinned.  
Daerion Lavellan glowered, his brief glimmer of happiness vanishing. He glared down at the tents below, “One can’t say it’s without reason, I have been almost killed three times at the least in the past week” His shoulders tensed again, head sagging, “The only sleep I’ve had in the last week and a half was after falling unconscious, not to mention everything else…”  
“Alright kid,” Varric placed a hand on Daerion’s shoulder, “Do you want to elaborate now?”


End file.
